Free Winning a Giraffe Called Geoffrey by Hazel Edwards Page A

up.
    â€˜Looking for … ar … an octopus. I was just playing a game. Thanks for your help.’Art peered around the door. Luckily, Mario had gone.
    Art decided to forget about giraffe books. As usual, he’d find other ways. Art shut the pet shop door firmly behind him.
    â€˜I’ll start my Giraffe Plan today.’ Art often talked to himself as he walked down the street. Some spies wrote messages in secret ink. Others used code. But they all needed to ask questions.
    â€˜Who would know about giraffes? And where can I keep Geoffrey?’ muttered Art as he walked down the street. If he talked to himself, the ideas seemed to stick in his head.
    Mario jumped out at him from the Bakery corner.
    â€˜Yah! Got you Artie!’
    â€˜No you haven’t!” Art backed off as the dogs attacked.
    â€˜Talking to yourself again Artie. You ought to be careful. People will think you’re out of your tree.’
    Mario’s greyhounds jumped at Artie. Yip.Yip. Yip. Their muzzles gleamed. Their bony legs stretched.
    Artie backed away, even though his brain told his legs to stay.
    Mario was always frightening smaller kids. Art was as tall as Mario but he felt small when Mario shouted and waved his arms around. So Art put on his you-can’t-scare-me voice. ‘Get lost Mario.’
    Mario just laughed and yanked his dogs away.’ These dogs are better trained than you Artie. See you at school tomorrow. Just wait.’
    For what? As Art hurried home to check his house for giraffe space, he thought about Mario. He liked dogs but none that belonged to Mario. At school, Mario was always teasing him about ‘training’. Especially when Art tried to train for the cross country by puffing around the school oval. One day, he’d get into the school cross country team. Anyway, nest week, Mario’s greyhounds would look like ants beside HIS giraffe.

Chapter 2
A Giraffe Plan
    â€˜I forgot again!’ He saw the message on the fridge.
    DON’T FORGET YOUR SWIMMING
    Underneath, Mum had drawn a stick figure swimming. She often drew messages for him. Sometimes it was like a comic strip on the fridge. No excuse for missing the message then.
    Art used to have lessons, but now he just did laps. Mum said he had to do some breathing exercises under water every night. Sometimes, he forgot, on purpose.
    â€˜I had asthma too, when I was your age,’ Mum said. ‘It was awful. Sometimes I couldn’t breathe. My chest was all tight.’
    â€˜Then why did you give it to me?’
    â€˜I didn’t mean to, ‘Mum gave him a cuddle.’ Remember, you got blue eyes too.’
    â€˜And slow teeth.’
    â€˜The swimming helps your breathing, doesn’t it?’
    Art nodded. But swimming didn’t help his teeth grow. And he needed some teeth money.
    After helping himself to a snack, Art rode down to the pool. At the bottom of his street was the racetrack. Art slowed down and pulled out his notebook. Someone was sitting in a blue car watching the greyhounds exercise. He was using binoculars. Art noted the licence number: CVD 345 Names were a problem, but Art always remembered numbers.
    He would have liked to stay watching the man, but he was late. And a Giraffe Plan was forming in his head. He would work out the right place for Geoffrey. But for how long could a giraffe be a secret?
    â€˜Hullo Art. You’re a bit late tonight.’
    Mrs. M.on the front desk always said that. Once he got there at 3.55 and she still said,
    â€˜Hullo Art. You’re a bit late tonight.’
    Art watched the show-off divers doing belly-whackers into the deep water. Their girlfriends shrieked. That gave him an idea. What about the deep end? A giraffe could stand there.
    Art dog-paddled. His chest hurt and he puffed a bit. It wasn’t fair. This happened at cross-country training too. He was sick of being on the sidelines when his chest didn’t always do what his brain told it. He